


Minifics/Drabbles

by jenaimarre



Category: The Smiths
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-07
Updated: 2015-03-07
Packaged: 2018-03-16 18:24:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3498299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenaimarre/pseuds/jenaimarre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>These are awful. Also, there are probably technical mistakes in terms of irl facts and stuff. Please ignore them. I do try.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chicks

The band were enjoying a much needed rest day on tour.

Andy and Mike had eventually got up and headed out to explore Paris; Johnny wanted to do the same, but with his boyfriend, who was nowhere to be found.

Dressed comfortably in his favourite jumper, he smoked out on the hotel balcony overlooking the expanse of Paris' sprawl. Spires and squares danced in the light and he exhaled at the beauty of it all. At the foot of the hotel was a tree-lined avenue leading to a more commercial area, and there was a small lawn outlining the hotel itself. From as high as the band's floor was, Johnny could make out a figure all but rolling around on the grass; the figure definitely resembled Morrissey.

Johnny smirked and stubbed out his cigarette, heading for the lifts. Once he was strolling out of the lobby, he heard Morrissey whine exasperatedly.

'Moz, what's the matter?'  
Moz giggled and sat up in a huff.

From this distance, Johnny could see the issue; a group of three tiny birds helplessly tweeting in a pile, a few metres from where a pile of sticks vaguely resembled a fallen nest.

'What exactly are you trying to achieve?' Johnny smirked, kneeling down behind his boyfriend to observe the scene.

'I don't know what to do! My hands aren't big enough - where will I take them? Johnny, what is to be done?' Moz laugh-sobbed.

Johnny couldn't help himself; he blushed at the adorable hilarity of the scene and Moz's distress. Kissing the singer on his cheek, Johnny hatched a plan.

'This sweater is over-sized. I can hold it out at the bottom, see,' Johnny demonstrated, 'like a hammock, and carry them... We'll take the lift, and I have a spare storage box somewhere... Then we'll hit the town and find some bird feed and breakfast for ourselves, yeah?'

Morrissey scoffed disapprovingly. 'But they can't live in a plastic box, Johnny, we have to put a nest in it. And I don't want bird feed for breakfast,'

'Okay, you bring the remnants of the nest. But you can't go round rescuing every small bird, Moz,'

Moz stood, arms crossed, pouting. 'I absolutely can,' he argued.

The pair did as they'd planned, Morrissey making slow work of it as he gazed with distracted concern at the baby birds. Johnny tried to make them comfortable, and their high-pitched tweeting was a cacophony. Once they'd gathered all they could, they made eye-contact, which caused both to dissolve into fits of giggles.

'Can we name them?' Moz asked excitedly as they entered the lift.

'Moz, they're not ours to name. We don't know whether or not their parents will find them up here, on the balcony, but regardless, they'll fledge soon if this goes okay,'

'Oh,' Moz looked disappointed, but Johnny knew his interest in the birds' well-being would come first. He still, then, proceeded to make cooing noises at Johnny's sweater-hammock.

They began the process of reconstructing the nest, with Moz adding one of his scarves into the mix and Johnny placing bottle tops of water into the bottom of the box. The tweeting had calmed down a bit, and Johnny and Morrissey placed the box securely on the wide balcony railing, proud of the achievement. 

'Can we go and get breakfast now?' Johhny asked, clasping the other's hand.  
'That would be awfully irresponsible parenting,'  
'Morrissey, for the last time - '  
Moz quietened him with a kiss, turning to face Johnny fully, letting the Paris sun soak their contact. 'Okay,' he whispered as they encircled one another in their arms.


	2. These Things Take Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I suddenly realised the previous drabble SO should have been called I'm Throwing My Arms Around Paris tbh so I gave this one a loosely fitting song reference title. Also, why do I suck and why am I walking cliche will science NEVER know

'Moz.'  
'Yes?'  
'I was wondering if... Would you help me come out and buy some Valentine's Day gifts? It's a few days away,'  
Morrissey looked around, puzzled. They were the last two in the studio, but it was early afternoon, following a before-dawn rise. Knowing Johnny's social skills, Morrissey couldn't really see what help Johnny would need from him. The recording studio walls weren't giving him an answer, either.  
'Okay... What were you thinking of getting... them?'  
'I don't know yet. Thought I could use some help deciding,'  
'Okay,' Moz said again, looking away. As awful as he felt about it, he couldn't deny that thinking about Johnny's prospective romantic partners made him uncomfortable. But he'd enjoy going along.

After taking lunch in a nearby cafe, Johnny directed the pair to the high street. They wandered into a traditional chocolate shop, filled with the heady smell of cocoa and polished wood.  
'What chocolates are good....?' Johnny said quietly, gazing up at stacked shelves.  
'These ones? No...... Oh.... No, these one - these ones here,' was the excited response.  
Johnny considered the ornate box for a moment, then nodded in amused approval and took it to the counter.

As they left the shop, Morrissey ventured his recurring query.  
'Who are they actually for?'  
Johnny just tapped the side of his nose with a smirk, and skipped a little ahead of his friend. 

Johnny stopped by at Moz's for dinner. The latter was embarrassed by the lack of food in the house, and ordered chips. They ate together in near silence, curled into a sofa, then talking about nothing and everything, but Moz was distracted by the pair's close proximity. Realising a conversation about Patti Smith seemed to be drawing to a close, he took the chance to end the meeting; he didn't, in any respect, want Johnny to leave, but the stress was getting exhausting. His heart rate leapt each time they made eye contact; each time their fingers brushed; each time Johnny laughed. Moz supposed that if Valentine's Day went successfully for Johnny, at least the little sparks of irrational hope Moz held close would be extinguished. And at least he wouldn't have so many beautiful evenings like this. It'd be good for his blood pressure. But he knew, underneath, optimism couldn't last.

'Uh... I was actually thinking of retiring early tonight.... I have to be up in the morning to...' Morrissey gesticulated vaguely, 'go to the... Post office?'  
Johnny grimaced in amused confusion.  
'Oh,'   
'Sorry, I-' Morrissey stood up unsteadily, cut off when Johnny grasped his forearm. He tugged it to pull himself up and hugged the taller man quickly.  
'Goodnight, then. See you in the morning?' He turned and dashed out of the door. Johnny had seemed slightly nervous himself, Morrissey observed; what could he expect, though? He'd been rude. But looking down at his shaking hands, he painfully acknowledged that there often wasn't an alternative.

When Johnny arrived at the studio the next day, Morrissey sorted through his things and grabbed the box of chocolates he'd brought with him from the flat. The cashier had wrapped it up in fuchsia ribbons. 

'Hello, Johnny, you -' Johnny brushed past him - 'you left this at the flat last night,' the declaration fell flat as Johnny enthusiastically greeted Andy, and they fell into conversation. Moz dropped, and then forgot, the issue; after all, Valentine's wasn't until the next day, and Johnny wouldn't exactly be delivering any presents before the recording session.

As the day's work drew to a close, Johnny approached the singer once again. 

'Moz, I feel like the chocolate box isn't enough - can you come out and help shop again?'   
Morrissey complied naturally.

It was later, and colder, than yesterday, and Morrissey spoke infrequently, head too buried in coat lapels. Johnny headed for a florist first. Green tendrils lined every surface and Moz felt at home; Johnny lingered as he considered each shelf, looking indecisive. 'The white chrysanthemums are nice, mixed in with the maroons and pinks here,' Moz mused.  
'You're right,' responded Johnny, straight away purchasing the bunch.

'Are you sure your Valentine really needs ALL of these riches, Johnny?' Morrissey asked as they traversed the high street.  
'Of course.'

Next was a bookshop. Morrissey inhaled the scent happily, immediately wandering off on his own. After about fifteen minutes, Johnny tapped his band-mate on the shoulder.   
'You done?'   
'Yes,' Moz said, having to mentally pry himself away. They headed for the counter, and Morrissey examined Johnny's purchase. He gasped as he drew his eyes across the book.

Johnny was buying a special edition of 'The Picture of Dorian Gray'. The hardback cover was embroidered, the page edges golden in a luxurious design that perfectly fitted the book's aesthetic. The wrapping (for it had such) boasted in-depth introductions from literary experts and insight from Wilde's son and grandson, Vyvyan and Merlin. Morrissey's voice got caught in his throat. Johnny caught his bewildered stare and laughed as Moz stroked the spine in awe. Johnny jokily slapped his hand away.  
'There are a lot of Oscar obsessives in the world, you know,' he reminded his friend.

Morrissey gave Johnny a lift back to his own flat after the shopping session, but by the morning, as he switched on the ignition, box of chocolates in tow to return to Johnny, he realised with exasperation that the guitarist had left the book and flowers in Morrissey's car as well. At least the load was too big now for Moz to forget to return them, he reasoned.

Reveling in the knowledge that this was the last day there'd be any point in trying to 'impress' Johnny, Morrissey had worked hard on a nice outfit, styling his hair meticulously. He sighed as he checked it in the wing mirror, trying to push jealousy to the side.

Johnny arrived at the studio shortly after the singer, and Morrissey stood immediately, flowers, chocolates and book all bundled in his arms at once. Johnny strolled up to meet him.  
'Good morning,'  
'Johnny, you seem to have forgotten ALL of these,' Morrissey chided. Johnny didn't respond; he just beamed up at the other. Confused, Morrissey held his arms slightly outwards, emphasising the message, but Johnny remained still. The silence dragged on and Johnny's smile never faltered. He marveled at that; how did he keep such an expression? Such a radiant exp- Johnny broke the stillness to make an exaggerated foot-tapping-watch-checking motion. What was he trying to communicate? Was Johnny angry? Was it Morrissey's fault that Johnny had forgotten the gifts? Was he going to make Morrissey deliver them himself? That was hardly fair. Moz finally relented.  
'What, Johnny?' he asked in his exasperation.  
Johnny threw his head back, sighing, but still grinning, obviously determined not to give him an answer. Morrissey couldn't figure it out; were they - were they for him? Morrissey crushed that line of thought immediately. But.... It would make some semblance of sense, he supposed. He felt his blush increase, and tried to make a vague 'Me?' gesture as cryptically as possible - he didn't want to make a fool of himself if, or when, he turned out to be wrong. Johnny gestured to continue. Morrissey ventured, in a small voice, 'For me?' 

Johnny giggled, nodded and blushed all at once and Morrissey sighed with relief - and then incredulity. 'Happy Valentine's Day, Mr Immune To Hints.' Moz realised he was shaking, finding it difficult to move or respond, but reminded himself that his lack of reply was probably making Johnny anxious too. He set the gifts carefully down on a chair and embraced Johnny, risking a kiss on the side of his neck. Johnny scoffed and leaned back, aligning their faces properly, and kissing his Valentine properly. The couple wandered simultaneously to the sofa at the left of the room, sinking down into it, and they were vaguely aware of laughter emanating from the next room, but Morrissey decided that he did not care as his hands roamed Johnny's torso.

Mike's subsequent yell of 'AHEM,' startled them apart, red-faced and breathless.


End file.
